London
1816 - Present Day
Lady Charlotte never imagined herself in quite this predicament. Although, with her neighbor and childhood friend, Sophie Beaumonte, breathing heavily behind her, perhaps Charlie could.
For, at the moment, Charlie found herself hunkering behind a tall, potted fern, shielding herself from view in one of the many hallways of her uncle's newly acquired town home in Mayfair. It wouldn't have appeared quite that uncommon for Sophie and Charlie, if not twenty feet away in the ballroom, in Charlie's uncle's ballroom, London's elite had not come upon them en masse. The ladies flitted with their fans and sent flirtatious glances, the gentleman vying for flutes of champagne while avoiding the matchmaking mamas of the ton.
Charlie glanced down, a wry smile tilting her lips.
Or if, in fact, Charlie had not been dressed for the ball she was currently hosting.
The beautiful, cornflower blue ballgown was made of a decadent fabric that twirled about her legs, caressing her in silk. The bodice was cut rather low, the sleeves slipping off her shoulders. Madame Laurent, one of London's most prized French modistes, had finished the gown only last week.
Charlie knew Madame would be horrified indeed to find Charlie lurking about in her gown behind an overgrown and detestable (but well-placed) plant with her white gloves snagged, and her slippered heels no doubt stepping upon the delicate hem of her gown.
This, Charlie thought with a wry smile, was why she preferred not to have nice, delicate things in proper, ladylike fabrics.
It wasn't conducive to subterfuge.
With that in mind, Charlie shoved down a few fronds, her violet eyes peering down the long parquet hallway.
Nothing.
Charlie cast a glance over her shoulder, meeting Sophie's eyes which were wide in her face from their quick-paced walk followed by a sprint to the nearest obstacle to hide them. Charlie gave her friend a nod, her head jerking in the direction they were headed. Sophie nodded back, and Charlie let go of the frond, which chose to swing back into her face, slapping her with its prickly edges.
Charlie cursed, ignoring Sophie's snort of laughter, as she tip-toed further down the hall, casting one last furtive glance at the glittering candles of the ballroom.
It had been a long wait of playing the dutiful hostess, chatting with various lords and ladies, while taking a few turns about the dance floor. Her uncle had yet to stay in one place long enough for Charlie and Sophie to sneak away to investigate his study. Charlie had bided her time, dancing attendance upon her guests.
She had even let herself be taken through a few reels, one with a partner who was distinctly flat-footed, while the other had stared, entranced, at her bosom as if the secrets of the universe could be found betwixt them.
For all she knew, perhaps those secrets were there, and Charlie simply wasn't the proper gender to notice.
Focus, Charlie.
It was no time for talk of her bosom.
Charlie rolled her eyes at her wayward thoughts as she motioned for Sophie to follow her. While she was sure it had been only minutes since they had fled the ballroom, Charlie knew her uncle wouldn't stay preoccupied with his current conquest for long. Her opportunity had finally arisen when Henry had taken Lord Townsend aside. A new lordling, Charlie had heard, that was embroiled in debt, his collectors threatening debtor's prison. Her uncle had been in deep conversation with him, while the man had shifted his eyes about as if seeking salvation.
It made sense that Henry had selected Townsend for his next conquest. Or, more likely, the lamb had come to the wolf for slaughter.
The desperate always did.
It had hardly mattered to Charlie that they left her uncle's acquaintance with their purses lighter and their investments squandered.
Or it hadn't.
Now, it was all Charlie had left.
You have no choice.
Henry's harshly whispered words of a few nights ago struck her, her feet stumbling as the threat sent a thread of ice settling at the base of her spine. She needed to reveal his secrets if she had any hope. Before he had her cornered, no options left.
Charlie needed her uncle Henry's ledger. Without it, she had nothing with which to blackmail her uncle, thereby there was no future of hers to protect. But to have secrets. It made a desperate man.
Her uncle preyed upon such a weakness. And thanks to her uncle, Charlie knew how effective such a solution was.
Charlie, renewed in her mission, scuttled farther down the hallway. When the corner insisted she go ever further, Charlie stopped, plastering her back to the wall. Sophie followed suit, one hand clutching her ribs as her breath sawed in and out.
"We must be quiet, Soph. Let me make sure the hallway is empty before you follow," Charlie said, watching as Sophie nodded. Charlie was about to peer around the corner before she halted, adding over her shoulder, "We may only have time for one glimpse before we need to get back, so be as quick as you can."
Charlie crept out from the shadows. A gentle breeze blew in from an open window across from her uncle's study, the view revealing the extravagant gardens of the estate. Her uncle's study was the last room on the right, its door slightly ajar.
Darkness issued from the room.
Charlie motioned the all clear, and Sophie followed close behind. They were halfway down the corridor when the scuff of a boot sounded ahead of them, followed by a muffled, male curse.
Charlie froze.
Bloody hell. There was no way her uncle could have headed them off.
Charlie discarded the idea as quickly as it formed.
There was no possible way for her uncle to have gotten to his study without heading down this walkway. They would have seen him.
Besides, Charlie reminded herself, why would her uncle slink about in his own study?
No, it was someone else.
Charlie twisted her head back towards the way they came, her wide eyes meeting Sophie's. They could either head back in the direction of the ball, waiting for the next chance to raid her uncle's study, or they could continue on. A nook stood not far away from them, meters from her uncle's study.
Charlie cursed the brief moment of indecision as another sound came from the room. Closer.
Why would she run to the blasted footsteps?
Abort, Charlie mouthed, her palm pushing Sophie's back. They sprinted, Charlie's breath coming in short, quiet gasps, while Sophie gave louder bellows.
Their dresses made a light swoosh across the parquet as they speared around the corner.
The unmistakable clap of footsteps sounded, heading in their direction.
Grasping Sophie's wrist, Charlie cast another look behind her, seeing the man's shadow, tall and imposing. She swept Sophie into the music room on the left, both of them using the half closed door as a shield.
Charlie held her finger to her mouth as she peered through the small crease between the doorway and the wall. She heard the heavy tread of footsteps, the sound loud against the drifting melody from the ballroom. She caught a glimpse of black, the tapping of something she could not see, and then the figure had passed, her view impeded by the wall.
When the steps receded, the silence broken only by their breaths, Charlie released the gusty sigh she had been holding. Sophie stepped back from the shadow of the door, bending over, her hands on her knees.
"Shite," Charlie cursed, her head falling back in a bark of surprised laughter. "That was bloody close."
Sophie snorted a laugh, trying to catch her breath. "Did you see who it was?"
Shaking her head in the negative, Charlie couldn't help but wonder. If only she had gotten a better glimpse of him.
Sophie straightened slowly, eyeing Charlie. "No matter. We weren't seen, at least." She grinned at Charlie. "Mayhap next time, we should be sure we are the only ones looking into your uncle."
Charlie laughed. "My uncle has more than one enemy, it seems. Rather shocking, isn't it?"
Sophie laughed again, finally catching her breath. "That was rather fun, I think. We make fairly good spies. We should work for Bow Street."
A gurgle of laughter erupted unbidden from Charlie. "Were we, Soph? The very height of discretion?" Charlie bent over, imitating Sophie's deep breaths of a moment before.
Sophie scowled at her. "Oh, bugger off."
Charlie smiled, wondering if any more ghosts were about to crop up in the deserted hallways.
"Should we try again, do you think?" Sophie asked, breaking into her thoughts. "We might have a few moments more before our absence is noted."
Charlie bit her lip, wanting nothing more than to head back to her uncle's study. Time was ticking, and she was no closer to securing her future than she was before. But Charlie knew they had been gone much too long already. Shaking her head, Charlie opened the door wider, her head peering out quickly before she looked to Sophie. "It's clear."
As the shadows receded, Charlie wished the darkness surrounding her would disappear as easily.
The hopelessness that dogged her thoughts made her angry, which in turn made her feel even more hopeless. Her uncle's determination to marry her off had her skin prickling with panic and sweat beading upon her lip.
"He will never give up my inheritance willingly," Charlie said, loathing the desolate drop of her shoulders. "How am I to retrieve this evidence, Sophie? What use is it if I do retrieve it, anyway? Who's to say anyone will give a fig in any case?"
Sophie turned to look at Charlie, her hazel eyes sober, determined. "That won't happen, Charlie." She squeezed Charlie's hand, the silk of their gloves crinkling with the embrace. "We won't let it. I promise you that."
"We?" Charlie asked, her smile watery.
"We," Sophie stated, releasing her grip on Charlie's hand only to link her arm through Charlie's. "Besides, no one but me is allowed to issue threats."
She bumped into Charlie's hip lightly, playfully, her emerald dress shimmering next to Charlie's blue gown. It reminded Charlie of her countryside pond, the way the sunlight would hit it, making it appear equal parts green and blue.
Charlie wanted nothing more than the familiar comforts of home.
"I don't know how we have stayed such good friends," Charlie said, rallying her spirits, as they arrived back into the ballroom, keeping to the edges as if they had been chatting there all along.
Sophie snorted. "You give as you good as you receive, my dear Charlotte. And that is why your uncle will not succeed in his endeavours. He underestimates his biggest enemy."
Charlie smiled at that, the thought of her being a fierce competitor.
Like an Amazon, perhaps.
Or the queen on the chessboard. One wrong move, and checkmate.
One win her uncle would never see coming.
Charlie swallowed the lump of sadness that struck her, the thought of the old shattered chess set ached.
That would be the first item she bought with her inheritance, Charlie vowed. A new chess set to replace the one she had ruined in her other lifetime.
She wondered what her father would think of them now, everything that had happened and would happen. Would her father be pleased to know that his own brother had mocked his newly parent-less daughter? How her uncle had cast aspersions on her father's character in allowing Charlie to dress in breeches, to spend her time with the horses and staff, to hide away in the hayloft with a book? How would her father feel to hear Henry speak of how her father had brought up a family of heathens, leaving Henry to take on someone that had no more usefulness than a mare at market?
Would her father be proud to know that his beloved daughter's inheritance was in the hands of such a man as her uncle? The man who had barricaded his only daughter in a room after learning about Charlie's twenty first birthday inheritance, who had declared she would marry a man so far under his thumb that Charlie had no hope for anything different?
Charlie hated, loathed, the fear she had experienced in that one defining moment, locked in her uncle's study with his extravagant show of wealth permeating every corner.
But then, Charlie had gotten angry.
Even now, the anger simmered within her, a spark that needed one strike of flint before the flames buried deep erupted within her and burned everything in its path.
Wouldn't be easier to be a gentleman, Charlie thought. It was one that had plagued her on and off ever since her uncle had taken up residence in her father's birthright. As a gentleman, she would have freedom. That same feeling she got whenever she donned her breeches and cambric shirt. If Charlie were a man she could ride however she liked, as far as she liked. She would control her own fortune. Her future would be whatever she wished.
They were poppycock dreams, and Charlie knew it. She hadn't been gifted with a male form, or the male equivalent of brawn and intellect. No, Lady Charlotte, daughter of a Marchess, though a member of the peerage she might be, had the most unfortunate circumstance of birth.
To be female.
It constituted the sum of her parts, and God forbid, a lick of common sense on the side.
Charlie grinned at that. It was something she was damned proud of - that sense. It had led her and Sophie to this plan.
Renewed purpose strengthened her limbs.
She would beat Henry at his own game. For her father's sake. Her mother's memory.
He had shown his hand too soon, predicting that he would take the kingship only to land within the sphere of the Queen.
Charlie's triumphant thoughts were disturbed in the next moment by a rather human condition. Her stomach's loud growl. Sophie glanced back at her with an amused grin.
Charlie shrugged. Their espionage quest had left her starving.
Narrowing her eyes at Sophie's smile, Charlie veered towards the food tables, their tops laden with lemonade and jams, breads and cheeses. Charlie snagged a strawberry tart, her fingers clutching the dessert greedily.
Perfect, she thought. A celebration of things to come.
"There's an empty space alongside the wall there," Sophie pointed, her body already leading the way past the wallflower seating. Charlie glanced at the chairs crowded with bodies. She gave a small smile to Lady Randall and her daughter, Marielle, while pretending not to notice the highly elevated chin of the Viscountess of Perth, her glasses perched precariously on the tip of her nose, sniffing at seeing her hand filled with a sweet.
Lady Blackmore snored upon her seat, her up-swept gray curls laid back heavily on her chair.
A shoulder bumped into Charlie. She barely managed an apology before the man attired all in black walked briskly past her.
Well, she thought, bringing the tart to her mouth, what a nice gentleman.
Red juice bloomed from the tarts center as she bit down, a drop landing on her gloved palm. So absorbed was she that Charlie failed to see the man who was traipsing backwards towards her. The form bumped into her person, forcing her body to stumble. Her feet slipped on the floor, her tart beginning to ooze from her grip as she fought to hold onto her treat while not falling onto her backside.
She would have been successful too, Charlie grumbled, if at that moment, when her balance was regained, the man hadn't sought to play the gentleman and pull her forward, seeking to keep her on her toes.
What happened next was inevitable.
Because when the man sought to pull her falling body forward, her body had righted itself only to be cast off balance with such force that Charlie's slippers skidded on the floor, in the exact spot a dollop of her tart had congealed.
Charlie felt her body pitch forward, her hands coming up to decrease the impact of her landing. Unfortunately, one of her hands still clutched a forgotten tart.
She heard the unmistakable squelch of her pastry as she collided with the man's chest.
Charlie clenched her eyes closed, knowing what she would see when she opened them.
It was only confirmed by Sophie's boisterous laughter behind her, a few snickers heard around her before the ladies' mothers and chaperones muffled the sounds.
"Drat," Charlie murmured, stepping back to look at the berry, hand-print sized stain on the man's silver waistcoat. Her eyes couldn't seem to look away from the spot.
Had it grown bigger?
Her eyes quested up, her mouth opening to give an apology. At least, that's what Charlie had planned to do. In all respects, it would have been most polite of her since she, in her dogged determination to quench her hunger, had quite ruined the man's coat. Unfortunately, all that tumbled from her mouth was the ever elegant -
"Ungh."
One of the man's finely shaped black brows lifted high on his forehead, a pair of grey eyes, the dark grey of storm clouds, glancing down at her in amusement. "Yes, my lady. Ungh, indeed."
Those eyes released hers to peer at the damage, and Charlie found herself looking her fill. The lord, for he most assuredly was one, had long black hair that curled unfashionably long about his shoulders, landing in a rogue-ish flip at the collar. Charlie's eyes fell to his broad shoulders encased in a simple black tailcoat, up to his thick neck and his rectangular jaw, lightly stubbled.
Her perusal stuttered when the man bent down, his mouth coming mere inches from her ear. "It seems I am wearing a bit of your tart."
Charlie choked on a laugh, until it too, fell off into silence.
If she wasn't mistaken, the man had inhaled deeply of her before he straightened.
Charlie swallowed, wondering if she had imagined it.
He surely hadn't smelled her? Had he?
She didn't have time to contemplate the absurdness of it because his mouth was moving. Charlie forced herself to focus. "I am sorry to have come between the two of you," he was saying, "but it seems my coat had little choice in the matter."
Charlie felt herself smiling in turn. "Couldn't let me enjoy it all, could you?"
"It wouldn't have been gentlemanly, no." He said, his grin becoming a tangible caress.
Her smile slipped as her eyes took in the stain. She cringed. "I do apologize for your coat. I am sure someone could find you a replacement -"
Charlie's voice petered off as the man's grin blossomed still further. She replayed the words, not able to stop the blush from heating her cheeks. "Not that I was suggesting you undress...er, to disrobe another man..."
He laughed, his eyes crinkling.
"Oh, bollocks. I'm not making this better, am I?"
Grey eyes took her in slowly, paying particular attention to her hips and her bosom before meeting her eyes again. "Not particularly. Though I'm having fun seeing you try. Dastardly of me, isn't it?"
Charlie decided after the intense look he had given her that she had been right. The secrets of the universe did reside in her bosom.
She took in the stain on his waistcoat, almost like blood against the delicate fabric.
"It's of little consequence, truth be told, my lady." The man's voice lowered. "I wasn't particularly fond of this waistcoat. You, my dear girl, have given me the one reason I need to be rid of it for good."
His smile was genuine, a thing that pulled Charlie's lips into an answering grin. She couldn't stop her eyes from dipping to his mouth, noticing the slight dent in his full, lower lip, the elegant curves of the upper one.
"Well," Charlie replied, offering him a smile, "it's the least a lady can do. Wouldn't want you to look too dashing this evening, now would we?"
"I look dashing, do I?"
Charlie felt the tell-tale blush staining her cheeks again. "I don't think you can quite say that now, my lord, since it appears you did quite a number on your clothing. No proper lady will want you now."
Silence descended between them, her violet eyes taking in the masculine lines of his face, his grey ones dropping from her eyes to her lips.
Sophie cleared her throat, breaking their standoff.
Charlie came to, noticing the curious gazes around them. A few glanced away when Charlie met their gaze, but most stared openly, disapproval lining their faces. Stepping back to a respectable distance, Charlie faced the stranger who had come to the same conclusion she had, if his stiff shoulders were any consolation.
They had committed the ultimate faux pas. Not only had they been openly flirting for the whole of London to see, they had yet to be introduced.
Charlie floundered, wondering what the devil she could do to extricate herself from this situation. Her prayers were answered, however, when a man she had danced with at Lady Thistle's ball the week before, stalked in to save the day.
Viscount Thorne was identified easily, being one of the rare gentlemen gifted with golden curls that shone brightly. He was tall, taller than Charlie's stranger, and he carried himself with a wicked grin at the ready. He had devilishly curved eyelashes held over brown eyes with a glimmer of mischief.
Thorne grasped the forearm of her unfortunate gentleman, whispering something to him that had the man's head jerking up, a heavy frown pinching his mouth.
Charlie stood on her toes, trying to see over the various ladies and gentlemen crowding the ballroom.
The man turned back, his expression one of polite farewell. He gave Charlie a small smile. "Apologies, my lady, but if you'll excuse me..."
Before Charlie could give him a curtsy or a farewell in return, the man had disappeared, his stained waist coat having been forgotten in whatever endeavour had called him away. Thorne's brown eyes met hers, offering her a wink, before he too turned about and was gone.
Charlie looked after their retreating forms until the ton swallowed up even the gleam of Thorne's shimmering hair. She felt Sophie come to a stand beside her as the attention of those closest to them diverted to other pursuits.
"Looks to me as if your luck is turning about, Charlie. Drat you."
Charlie grinned at her friend before curiosity took over. "Do you know who that man was?"
"You don't know?"
Charlie's brow furrowed. "Know what?"
Sophie laughed, her eyebrows high in disbelief. "The man you so kindly decorated is the reclusive Earl of Claymore."
This had Charlie scoffing aloud."The man hasn't deigned to visit a London ballroom in years, Sophie. Surely, you must be jesting."
"You would probably prefer that I was," Sophie agreed, her eyes glancing in the direction the men had taken. "Just think, Charlie. The most mysterious bachelor in all of London attends a ball for the first time in years and how do you greet him?"
Charlie narrowed her eyes at her friend, but Sophie was never one to be detoured. Sophie grabbed Charlie's wrist, bringing Charlie's attention to her hand that was still caked and sticky with a half-eaten, half-smashed tart. "We offer him a sweet, of course."
**Author's note: There will be some inconsistencies in Charlie's eye color. It was originally violet, but I changed it to aqua. I haven't caught all of the instances yet, and I probably won't get to it for a bit. My apologies!
Also, I've gotten some questions about the use of Charlotte/Charlie. She starts as "Charlotte" and after the opening scene where her parents pass on, she begins to refer to herself as "Charlie". I can see how that is confusing, and my apologies! But yes, Charlie/Charlotte are one and the same. :) Please comment if anything is confusing/or not working. I will reply :) Thanks for reading, all! **